Chapter 4: A Brawl and a Spark
The corridor outside the warp core was a throat of pulsing red light and deep, rhythmic sound. The thunk-thunk of the containment field stabilizers vibrated through the deck plates, syncopated with the warp core’s own bass hum. Tom Paris turned the corner, the ozone-sharp scent of plasma filling his nostrils, and stopped dead.
Two Starfleet security officers, their shoulders broader than the corridor’s support beams, blocked the reinforced archway leading to the core chamber. Their silhouettes were black cuts against the steady blue glow emanating from within. Between them, hands planted on her hips, stood B’Elanna Torres.
“Standing orders, Lieutenant,” the first guard, a burly man with a close-cropped beard, said. His voice was a condescending rumble. “Authorized Starfleet engineering personnel only.”
“I am authorized,” B’Elanna shot back, her voice tight. She shifted, and the emergency lights caught the lenses of her glasses.“Captain Janeway’s order is in the system. I’m the Chief Engineer.”
The second guard, taller and with a permanent sneer, chuckled. “Your name’s on a screen.Doesn’t mean we have to like it. Captain’s orders don’t make you one of us.” He leaned forward, his bulk looming over her petite frame. “Still just a Maquis bitch in a stolen uniform.”
The crack of the slap was louder than the stabilizers.It echoed down the narrow passage, sharp and final. The taller guard’s head snapped to the side.A livid red mark bloomed on his cheek.
Tom moved without thinking, his boots silent on the deck. He saw the first guard’s eyes go wide with fury, saw the tall one snarl, shaking off the sting. This was going to be ugly.Two giants against one small woman.He broke into a sprint, ready to intervene.
He was three strides away when it happened.
The tall guard lunged, a wild, angry swing meant to club her down.B’Elanna didn’t retreat. She dropped her center, letting the fist pass over her head, and drove her own fist up into the soft space just below his sternum.The air exploded from his lungs in a sickening whoosh. As he doubled over, she used his momentum, grabbing his arm and pivoting, using her entire body as a lever to throw him headfirst into the bulkhead. He hit with a resonant clang and slumped, dazed.The bearded guard roared and charged.Tom skidded to a halt, his breath catching. B’Elanna moved with a speed that defied her size. She sidestepped the charge, her left arm coming up to deflect a follow-up punch, and her right elbow snapped back into the side of his jaw.His head whipped around. Before he could recover, she delivered a short, brutal kick to the back of his knee. He crumpled with a pained grunt, joining his partner on the deck.
Silence, save for the warp core’s hum and the ragged, pained groans of the two security officers.Tom stood frozen, staring. B’Elanna straightened up, her chest rising and falling with controlled breaths. She reached up, adjusted her glasses precisely on the bridge of her nose, and smoothed the front of her uniform tunic.
B’Elanna had replicated a modified version of the standard Starfleet operations uniform. It was regulation gold, but the design bent the rules. Instead of the common crew collar, hers featured a deep, triangular V-neck that framed her collarbones. The smooth, matte fabric was tailored close, accentuating a compact, fiercely feminine build—the gentle flare of her hips, the soft curve of her waist against the sleek line of the princess seams. The asymmetrical front panel and black shoulder yoke were Starfleet, but the fit was all her: practical, unapologetic, highlighting a rebellious nature that refused to be fully contained. She’d paired it with sheer black stockings that made her legs seem endlessly long despite her height, culminating in polished black ankle boots.The overall effect was staggering.
Tom felt a sudden, visceral pull, a heat in his gut that had nothing to do with the nearby plasma conduits. His mind betrayed him with a flash of pure, unbidden fantasy: B’Elanna on her knees before him, that defiant gaze looking up, her uniform tunic unzipped. Then the image shifted: her riding him, that same intense concentration on her face, her body a compact, powerful silhouette against the dim light of his quarters, glistening with sweat. The clarity of it startled him, a harsh, wanting ache.
“What are you looking at, Starfleet?” she snapped, her voice slicing through the hum. Her dark eyes were narrowed, fixed on him, still blazing with leftover combat fury.Tom blinked, forcibly shoving the images aside. He forced a lazy grin onto his face, the one he used to cover every insecurity. “Just admiring the work.Nice form. Efficient.” He gestured with his chin at the two men groaning at her feet. “They teach you that in the Maquis?”
She snorted, but a reluctant smirk tugged at the corner of her full lips. “They taught me not to take shit from overgrown children in uniform.” She eyed him suspiciously. “You here to try your luck?”
“Not a chance,” Tom said, holding up his hands in mock surrender. He nodded towards the core chamber.“Actually, I was looking for a little ventilation. It’s one of the few places on this tub a guy can enjoy a smoke without the Captain’s olfactory sensors going into red alert.” He pulled a slim, silver e-cigarette from his pocket, rolling it between his fingers. “If you don’t mind the company, I could use a break. You look like you could use one that doesn’t involve concussions.”
B’Elanna studied him for a long moment, her gaze assessing. She looked from his face to the cigarette, then back to the two security officers slowly struggling to their feet.“Fine,” she said, the word short. “But if you slow me down, or get in my way, I’ll throw you out the nearest airlock.Understood?”
“Crystal clear, Chief,” Tom said, his grin turning genuine.
She turned and strode through the archway without a backward glance. Tom followed, stepping over the leg of the bearded guard, who was clutching his jaw. The core chamber opened before them, a cathedral of technology. The warp core itself rose in the center, a towering column of pulsed blue light encased in transparent aluminum, its rhythmic thrumming the ship’s heartbeat. Catwalks lined the walls, buzzing with control panels and monitors casting a soft, operational glow. The air here was cooler, cycled and clean, carrying the faint, almost sweet smell of antimatter containment.
B’Elanna went straight to a primary systems panel, her fingers flying across the interface. Tom leaned against a railing, watching her work for a moment before lifting the e-cig to his lips. He activated it, and a wisp of vapor, flavored with synthetic tobacco and honey, escaped his mouth. The ventilation systems instantly whisked it away.
“They’ll come after you for that, you know,” B’Elanna said without looking up from her readings.“The guards. They’ll file a report.”
“They’ll file a report saying they were assaulted by the petite, bespectacled Chief Engineer?” Tom took another drag. “That’ll go over real well.I’m a witness. They started it.”
“You’d back me up?” She glanced at him, skepticism etched on her features.“You did the work. I saw it.” He shrugged.“Besides, we’re all in the same boat now. Seventy years worth of the same boat. Might as well try not to be assholes to each other.”
B’Elanna turned fully, leaning back against the console. She crossed her arms, the movement pulling the fabric of her tunic taut across her chest.Tom focused very deliberately on the core’s blue light. “You’re not what I expected,” she said finally.“What? A charming, rule-bending pilot?” He grinned.
“A Starfleet officer who doesn’t immediately take his comrades’ side.” Her tone was probing, neutral.“I read your file.Penal colony. Maquis sympathizer. You’re not exactly the poster boy for Starfleet propriety either.”
“See?Common ground.” He exhaled another plume of vapor.“I burned my bridges. Now I’m here.You burned yours.Now you’re here. We’ve both got something to prove, just on different consoles.”
She was quiet for a long moment, the core’s light reflecting in her glasses.“This plasma flow is inconsistent. Filed a work order three hours ago. Those two idiots were probably the reason it wasn’t done.” There was no anger now, just cold, factual irritation.“So prove them wrong,” Tom said simply. “Fix it better than any of their guys could.That’s how you win. Not just with your fists.” He paused. “Though the fists were impressive.”
A real smile, small and surprised, broke through her reserve.“Thanks.” She pushed off the console.“You should go. I have to realign the injectors, and it’s going to take concentration. And I don’t work well with an audience.”
“Message received.” Tom took a final drag and stowed the e-cigarette.He pushed himself off the railing.“Try not to break any more security officers. We’re short on crew as it is.”
He was halfway to the archway when her voice stopped him.“Paris.”
He turned.
She was still smiling, a genuine, unguarded expression that softened the fierce lines of her face. “I know you ran to save me,” she said. “A true knight always ready to protect the princess.”
Tom felt his own grin soften at the edges, becoming something less practiced, more real. He gave a small shrug.“Well, this particular princess didn’t need saving. If anything, the knight should protect the dragon.”
She laughed, a sharp, delighted sound that echoed in the chamber. She shook her head and turned her focus back to the monitor’s glow. “The smoking thing,” she said, her voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. “If you keep it to this section… I won’t mention it. The ventilation is good here.”
He nodded, the gesture carrying more weight than a simple acknowledgment.It was a truce. A tiny, shared secret in the vast, indifferent dark. “See you around, Torres.”
He went back to the bridge but in no way could have stopped thinking about her and his fantasy.
The image of her, fierce and focused on the core panel, kept superimposing itself over the more explicit fantasy. The two visions bled together until they became one unsettling, compelling whole: her intensity, her physical power, her surprising grace—all focused on him.It was a ridiculous thought. She’d probably break him in half, and not in a fun way. Yet the heat of the idea lingered, a slow burn in his gut as he slid back into his seat at the conn.
On the main viewer, the stars were a stretched, blue-shifted smear, their only reality for the next seventy years. “Steady as she goes, Mr. Paris,” Janeway said from the command chair.Her hair was its familiar, businesslike auburn, tied tightly back.
“Aye, Captain,” he replied, his voice automatic.His mind was elsewhere.The shift was ending when Tuvok approached. “Lieutenant,” the Vulcan began, his tone as neutral as the beige bulkhead. “A report was filed by Security Officers Darwin and Jetal regarding an altercation in the corridor adjacent to main engineering.”
Tom swiveled his chair, feigning mild curiosity. “Oh?”
“They claim they were assaulted by Chief Engineer Torres without provocation.” Tuvok’s dark eyes held Tom’s, utterly unreadable.“They made no mention of your presence.”
Tom’s eyebrows rose. He hadn’t expected that.They were embarrassed, of course. Out-fought by the petite, glasses-wearing ‘Maquis bitch.’ Admitting a witness would make it worse. “I was there,” Tom said, keeping his voice even.“They blocked her entry to her own engine room. One of them used a pretty offensive term.She slapped him. He threw the first punch.”
“I see.” Tuvok clasped his hands behind his back.“Their account lacked these salient details. Your testimony would be relevant should they choose to pursue formal charges.”
“They won’t,” Tom said, a note of certainty entering his voice.He knew that type of pride. “They got their egos bruised along with their jaws. Letting it go is the only salvage move they have.”
Tuvok gave a single, slow nod.“Your assessment is likely correct. It is, however, an irregular way to establish chain of command.”
“We’re seventy thousand light-years from regular, Tuvok.” Tom offered a tired smile. “Sometimes a chain needs a good shake.”
He left the bridge feeling strangely wired, the phantom taste of honey-tobacco vapor on his tongue. Instead of heading to his quarters, he found his feet carrying him back toward the stern. He wasn’t going to engineering, he told himself.Just walking.
The corridor was empty now, clean of any sign of the scuffle. He paused by the same archway, listening to the core’s monumental hum.Through the opening, he saw her. She was on an upper catwalk now, half-suspended in a Jefferies tube hatch, her legs dangling. A hyperspanner was clenched in her teeth as she wrestled with a stubborn coupling.She didn’t see him. He watched, utterly still, as she fought the machine. A curl of dark hair had escaped and stuck to her damp temple.With a final, grating twist, the coupling gave. She pulled the spanner from her mouth, a look of pure, savage triumph on her face. It was the most unguardedly beautiful thing he’d seen since the stars stopped making sense.
He slipped away before she could notice him, the afterimage of that triumph burning in his mind alongside everything else. The wanting was different now, sharper.It wasn’t just a physical fantasy anymore. It was mixed with a deep, unsettling curiosity about the woman who contained such multitudes: the engineer, the warrior, the secret-sharer.Back in his quarters, the silence pressed in. He pulled out the e-cigarette, looking at it.Their shared secret.He didn’t light it. He just held it, staring at the wall, and wondered what other secrets she might be willing to share in the endless, breathless dark.